


Shelter Dog

by pocketprince



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 07:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketprince/pseuds/pocketprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unfinished project based on Pilot Star's <a href="http://pilot-star.tumblr.com/post/33824272112/my-sis-sent-me-these-fics-which-i-loved-and-then">comic</a>. Not sure if I will finish this series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Jesus Christ on a cracker, that is a huge dog,” Stiles said, passing his hand over his head as he let out a breath, stepping back to get a good look at the beast.

Alright, he wasn’t too big. There were plenty of dogs bigger than this one, Stiles knew, but he just wasn’t expecting this big black wolf of a dog to catch his eye. But hey, it wasn’t like it was Clifford or something– and neither the sheriff nor the apartment complex had a limit on how big the dog he got could be.

 

“We still haven’t got a clue what breed he is,” the attendant mumbled, tapping her foot and looking over the papers beside the dog’s cage. The dog turned his head, staring at the two humans before him for just a moment. “We thought he was a wolf, but he’s incredibly domestic- the other dogs won’t get near him, though, and he doesn’t seem too friendly. We’re afraid we’re going to have to pass him on soon.”

Stiles ignored the bitter tang on his tongue at that– ‘Passing him on’? he knew what that meant– and knelt down in front of the gate, pressing his palm to the diamond-crossed fencing in front of the kennel. “I dunno, he’s kind of cute,” Stiles told the attendant, watching as the dog lifted his head, observing Stiles’s hand. Black as coal, the dog seemed formidable in size and shape but stood up with an ease and grace that hardly seemed threatening at all. The dog stepped forward, plopping down onto his stomach and crossing his paws, staring at Stiles for a few moments more. What was he, Gandalf? Regal little thing. Well, big thing.

 

The dog rolled his head, it seemed, and lowered his gaze to inspect the young man before him. If he could manage to speak, the dog would let him know- he wasn’t a dog. It was kind of insulting, really, that they thought he was- but all part of the plan. He found it a little ironic they’d affectionately named him Monster for his papers– didn’t quite have the same ring as Derek Hale, though. He figured he could keep his cool; after all, it was kind of necessary if he wanted to leave by the front door instead of by needle.

 

“Well, if you’d like to check him out in the other room– we’ll let you socialise with him. Maybe you’ll be a bit of luck!” the attendant said, scurrying off to the staff-only section to unlock the dog’s cage.

As soon as she was gone, the Derek lifted his paw, pressing the cool, leathery pads to Stiles’s palm. “Trained, huh? Guess you had an owner before.” Stiles rubbed his thumb over the pads of the dog’s paw, grinning a little. “You don’t seem so bad. You wanna come home with me? I have cable. Gonna have to deal with me studying, though. Dad’ll kill me if my grades go down because of you.” Derek bared his teeth a little, in what seemed like a mock grin, just as the attendant walked in to leash him up and direct Stiles to another room.

The first socialization test seemed simple enough; the dog would need only to seem comfortable eating in Stiles’s presence. It was peculiar, then, that he dragged the paper box of canned dog food to Stiles’s side, sat with his paws crossed again, and took a few licks before scrunching up his nose. Dog food just never tasted like anything, and Derek wasn’t about to let himself eat something that damn demeaning in front of this guy.

“Not your brand, huh?” Stiles asked, ruffling the dog’s ears about, “Kinda like when my dad cooks. I know how that is.” Derek looked up at him from beneath grey-furred browbones in a way Stiles would have sworn was condescending if not for the fact that he was dealing with an animal.

The now perplexed handlers led them through test by test, and it became apparent that while the dog was hardly amiable and lighthearted, Stiles had somehow won the once growly beast over (even if the dog had sighed and seemed to roll its entire head at the idea of fetching the ASPCA standard plastic toys.)

“It’s crazy,” the attendant mumbled as Stiles signed the papers, the dog waiting patiently at his side. “He wouldn’t let anyone near him before. We thought he was traumatised or something.”

“Hey, no one can be traumatised in my presence,” came Stiles’s retort as he scribbled in the little boxes, licking the inside of his cheek and trying not to laugh at his own little joke. “Whatever happened to him before? He’ll be fine now. Right, buddy?” The dog at his side looked up at him and seemed to roll its eyes, laying back down and crossing his paws again. 

Derek sure hoped so. If his plans didn’t work out, he’d be stuck like this forever and end up a domestic pet. “Fine then, don’t answer,” Stiles mumbled, signing his name and passing the clipboard of paper back to the attendant.

“Sirius?” The attendant asked, staring at the papers, “Like the star?” Derek scrunched up his nose again, stepping back to glare at Stiles with tealy blue eyes that almost flickered gold.

“No,” Stiles urged, bouncing his leg as he waited for her to process the files, “Like Sirius Black. You know, from Harry Potter? No one could hate a Harry Potter reference. And this guy’s serious, so it’s a perfect pun! Come on, you’ve read it, right?”

When the attendant said no, Derek seemed to pout almost as hard as Stiles did- but didn’t bother to mimic the exasperated full-body eyeroll Stiles managed. He was not, however, going to answer to that name– quality literature reference or not.

“This, Sirius, is Betsy,” Stiles told the dog when they left, patting the hood of his old, blue jeep to show it off. “She’s our ride home, so I reeeally hope you’re not afraid of cars.” 

God, that’d be a pain. That was against the rules of fate, right? Stiles couldn’t have gone through the trouble of getting a dog and trying to help it just to have it crying to get out of his car, right? Sirius seemed to be calm enough, though, trotting about the car and sniffing at its wheels before sitting beside the passenger’s seat door and staring at Stiles.

“You wanna get in?” Stiles asked, reaching over and opening the door– before he could make another comment, Sirius– Derek, damnit, why couldn’t he get this kid on the right letter at least?– leapt into the seat he’d claimed, sitting right down and facing his back to Stiles. Come on, boy, look at his back. He wouldn’t bite for now.

“Good boy,” Stiles mumbled once his jaw had settled back from its partial plummet to the floor, leaning forward to pat the dog’s back– only to notice something on Derek’s skin. His dark fur contrasted with his pale skin, and on it, beneath the fur, a black mark showed. It wasn’t a spot– no, it was too clean and artistic for that, and Stiles plucked about his patient pet’s fur to see three swirls connected in a triangle. Was it a scar? A tattoo? Did people tattoo their dogs?

Derek whined, looking over his shoulder. “Sorry, boy,” Stiles mumbled, patting the dog’s back. “Doesn’t hurt, right? Sorry about that. What’s on your back?” 

The dog yawned, turning his face away, and Stiles crossed to the driver’s seat. “Well, we’ll find out. For now, I hope you don’t hate music, at least.” He didn’t, but was ready to judge the hell out of Stiles’s tastes. If he turned on any of that pop bullshit kids Stiles’s age were into, Derek was going to raise hell. Dubstep was also completely out of the question, especially while the wolf was trying to think.

Stiles simply turned on the radio, babbling along, and tried to pretend that the way Sirius would sometimes nod his head to the rock beat was not suspicious at all.

At his apartment Stiles dropped his bag almost immediately, opening his arms to gesture Sirius in. “This is the Casa Stiles,” he announced, “and mi casa es su casa. Or tu casa, if we’re friends already. Don’t worry, we’ll get there.”

Sirius– Derek. Derek, kid, Derek– trotted on in, shoulders dropping as he observed the mess. He looked up at Stiles for a moment before hurrying to a pair of shoes on the floor.

“Whoa whoa whoa, buddy, no chewing! Give those back—” with a growl from the dog, Stiles stood still, the soft hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. “Fine, not like I like those… Shoes…?”

Derek brought the shoes unharmed to the mat by the door, straightened the mat, and set off to finish business.

“Trained,” Stiles mumbled, rubbing his jaw as though its previously slack angle had nearly caused it to come unhinged. He frowned, flailing his arms in an X. “No, no, no, no, no,” Stiles barked, “you are not coming in here and getting after me! I get enough of that from Dad. Come on, no guests and no girlfriend- I’m in college! I can afford a sloppy room!”

At that, Derek straightened, letting the shirt he’d picked up fall out of his mouth. Stiles wanted a mess? Fine; he could keep it like that. He set himself on Stiles’s couch, gaze pensive and paws crossed.

“Are you–” Stiles stared at Sirius, slack-jawed again, before rolling his eyes and head to the ceiling and moseying over to the kitchen. “Great. I got a dog that can act offended. Get over here and eat. Next time maybe I’ll take you with me and you can pick something out.”

When Sirius trotted to his side, Stiles knelt down and offered a bowl of canned dog food– once again Derek was tempted to turn up his nose, but at least it was better than the brand-X-not-fit-for-human-consumption shelter food. Not too in the mood to die of starvation, he lapped it up and pushed the bowl away from Stiles with his nose, and so began the night’s round of avoidance warfare.

He kept to himself for much of the night, not noticing when Stiles pulled out his laptop to research tattoos and marks and three-pointed swirls, but paying close attention when Stiles fell asleep on the couch, laptop still open. Derek hopped up, closing the computer, and set off to make this living space more livable.

When Stiles awoke that Saturday morning it was to a sheet from his bed pulled haphazardly over him, his laptop at his feet, and his living room floor covered in bedsheets, clothing, and junk from his room.

So his dog was a spiteful thing that understood too much English.

Yeah.

Not strange at all.

——-

“Dude, look, he’s not a normal dog, alright?”

Of course Scott wasn’t going to believe him. Stupid Scott McCall and his veterinary experience and his ‘dogs don’t do that, Stiles’. “I’m telling you. It’s like he understands every single thing I say and does the opposite just to piss me off.”

“You just have to train him,” Scott assured the frazzled Stiles, pushing quarters into the university café’s old vending machine. “If you were gonna get mad so easily, maybe you shouldn’t have gotten a dog, man.”

Frustrated, Stiles rolled his eyes, leaning one arm against the vending machine and putting his other hand on his hip. “You are not. Getting it. I’m not saying he tore up my couch after I told him no. I’m saying he started straightening up my room and then when I told him not to, he trashed the place while I was asleep! I think Sirius was like, trained by the military or by some rich dog walker or something and like, I dunno, went crazy and got himself disowned or something.”

“I don’t even think you can teach a dog to do that,” Scott mumbled, pressing through the buttons to see which one wasn’t sold out. “You’re bullshitting me, man.”

“No– okay, look, the other day when we were in the car to pick up the last forms? He kept switching the radio station!”

“A dog.”

“He punched the buttons with his nose! I’m not kidding, Scott! This dog is fucking possessed!”

Scott slammed his palm against the side of the machine and bent over to pick up the coke that finally barrelled out of the slot, turning to walk with Stiles to a nearby table. “I dunno, Stiles,” he mumbled, shrugging. “Just take him back to the ASPCA and tell them it’s not working out.”

“Whoa whoa whoa– hell no,” Stiles practically climbed over the table, his elbows and back hunched over as he stayed close enough to Scott not to be overheard by others. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not? You were just complaining–”

“No!” Stiles repeated, rolling his eyes up toward the ceiling again and biting his lip before running his hand through his short-cropped hair. “Listen, he’s interesting, okay? And I just… I dunno, Scott, in the shelter, it was like he needed me. You just have to meet him, okay?”

Of course he did. Letting out a breath, Scott leaned back in his seat and took a bite of his sandwich before giving Stiles an answer. “Bring him in for Deaton to check on ‘im on a day I’m there. I’ll make you an appointment. I needed to tell you something, anyway.”

At that, Stiles perked up. “Well, what is it?” he asked, flipping his hand away as if beckoning. “Come on! You can tell me now.”

“Stiles!” Scott whined, pouting even harder, like a puppy whose toy just got taken, “Just wait, okay? I need you to trust me. Come over to the vet’s tomorrow and I’ll tell you while Deaton’s checking on Sirius.”

That was a good enough deal to keep Stiles from further inquiring but not quite enough to keep him from spending that night and the next day inventing a number of crazy confessions Scott could have (because Stiles knew as if it were fact that Scott McCall, among his many stunts that were clearly only to get Stiles killed, was very well capable of opening a rift in the time-space-continuum if the event could freak Stiles out enough) and preparing himself for the worst.

What he hadn’t prepared himself for on the car-ride home from classes before the appointment, however, was the sound of his television drifting softly past the door. Scrunching up his nose, he pressed his ear to the door—

Baseball.

Baseball?

He definitely did not leave the channel on ESPN the night before. Someone was in his apartment and his damn possessed dog was letting them watch TV.

Unless, of course, the one watching the television was Sirius himself.

Derek would have noticed Stiles come in, he really would have, but as soon as the Dodgers scored he jumped to his feet, letting out a quiet howl that quickly turned into a strangled whine when his eyes met Stiles’s. He pounced on the off button on the remote control, hurrying to roll on his back in greeting. Come on, Stiles, fall for the cute puppy act. 

Stiles closed the door, jaw still hanging open, and leaned against it, dropping his backpack to the floor. With a quick, sloppy wipe to his chin as if fixing the hinges, he bit his lip and took a breath. “Great,” he mumbled, slapping his palms against the pockets of his jeans, searching for something to hold onto. “My life is officially becoming a heartwarming ABC Family production of Vampire Dog.”

Of all the references to use– no, Derek, wait, the reference wasn’t the problem. No, he— he had to calm Stiles down somehow–

Or he would, if Stiles wasn’t already off talking again. “You know, in my house, we cheer for the Mets,” he said, walking to the fridge and sipping a half-open pop, closing it and putting it back as soon as he was done. “Not the dodgers. And don’t even look at me like that with your little dog-pout face, I know they suck. It’s the principle of the thing.”

He walked to the door again, grabbing the bright red leash and hooking it on to Sirius’s collar. “Look, I don’t care if you watch baseball, we’re going to the vet.” As soon as Stiles pulled on it, however, he found that the dog was much heavier than he’d expected. 

And more muscular.

God damn this was a strong ass dog.

Derek was absolutely not going to be led about on a leash. He was pretty sure they’d established that before; they didn’t even go on walks with the leash as Stiles had abandoned the effort after the first try. He took the leash in his mouth and tugged, keeping his weight firmly on the floor.

“Look,” Stiles managed, tugging as hard as he could, “They have– rules– about this kind of thing and– and you have to– use– a leash–! Come on, it’s not even that bad– Jesus Christ!”

When Sirius finally tugged the leash free from Stiles’s grip, Stiles fell back on his ass and grumbled, glaring at the stupid thing. “You know what? Fine. You carry the leash.” He stood, opening the door, and pointed out. “Let’s go, Wonderwolf, grab the damn leash and let’s get out. Scott made the appointment for 4:30 and he’ll whine if I’m late. Do you know the kind of puppy faces Scott is capable of? Your little dog faces are nothing compared to that crap. Let’s go.”

Taking the leash in his mouth and carrying it along, Derek plodded out, looking back over his shoulder. Stiles looked exhausted– but he didn’t seem ready to give up, and that was about the only thing holding Derek’s chances together. He gave a little sigh, hurrying into Betsy’s passenger seat, and stood on the middle console to give Stiles’s cheek an apologetic lick and resisting the urge to nip his nose– an assertive pack behaviour he’d had very few chances to do as a beta. 

Stiles wiped his cheek, making a face. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, you’re not the dog from hell,” he mumbled, reaching over to scratch Sirius’s head. “But I swear to God, if you change the radio station this time, you’re sleeping outside.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles finds out that this dog isn't... normal.

Shelter Dog Ch. 2 - Teen Wolf

The AU’s all thanks to Pilot-Star’s wonderful comic, remember! CH. 1 Here.

Chapter: 2  
Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale, Scott McCall, Dr. Deaton.  
Rating: 13+  
AU: Just a different type of werewolf AU, where werewolves moreso resemble faoladh. Also, Stiles and the crew are in college.  
Warnings: Requirement of the suspension of belief because woops laws.

Summary: Stiles’s new dog is reeeally freakin’ weird. A quick visit to the veterinarian explains exactly why- but also causes a bit of trouble between a student and his best friend.

“Dude, you can’t chicken out now,” whined Stiles, tugging on Sirius’s collar, trying to get him more than three paces into the veterinary clinic.

Derek was going to kill something, he swore. How was it that this kid didn’t get he wasn’t trying to stay out of the clinic? He was stuck. Kaput. There was no way he could get in, unless-

 

“Mister Stilinski! I heard you’d be coming-” Dr. Deaton stopped the moment he saw the two, eyes on Sirius’s dark form.

“God, sorry, he won’t come in and he’s really huge, or he probably ate bricks or something— I can’t get him inside,” Stiles babbled, fidgeting a bit ashamedly as he knelt at Sirius’s side, glaring at him.

“Ahh, that isn’t your fault,” Dr. Deaton mumbled, “Don’t worry. You’re allowed in.” As he turned to leave for the back room, he called for Scott, and Derek seemed to brighten.

All at once, Derek practically kept past the line he’d refused to cross- and gave Stiles a lick on the cheek and a tail wag. See? Good dog.

Making a mocking little sneer as he wiped his face, Stiles glared at the beast. “Nyeh nyeh, smartass dog,” he mumbled, standing up and jerking his thumb toward the leash on the floor. “Yeah, don’t forget that. Jeez, I can’t believe this…” 

“Dude, you talk to that dog like you’re nuts,” Scott mumbled as he walked in, melting at the sight of Sirius’s fur. “Holy crap, he’s adorable!” Kneeling before the dog, he buried his hands in Sirius’s fur and scratched, grinning brightly.

“Hello to you too, McCall,” Stiles grumbled, rolling his eyes. “You shoulda seen him earlier. He wouldn’t even walk in.”

“Hey, he’s not so bad,” Scott nearly scolded, rubbing Sirius’s neck and muzzle. “You just didn’t know what you were in here for, right, Sirius? Good boy.”

Stiles could have sworn the look Sirius gave him was a defiant little smirk, but didn’t bother wasting his breath trying to convince Scott.

Scott led them both to the examining room where Derek lept up to the top of the cold metal table, turning about a few times as he looked for Deaton. That vet knew, he was sure, and clearly landing a living space with someone who was best friends with the vet’s assistant was a sign that his luck had upended itself to its rightful level of ‘yes, you’ll survive’.

When Deaton entered the room again, he gave a taut little smile. “Well, boys, I’m glad to see you’re both here– not that I expected any different,” he said, stepping forward and giving Derek a sympathetic rub to his muzzle. “And as I expect you’ve noticed by now, Stiles, this is no ordinary dog.”

Stiles shot Scott a look that clearly translated to I told you so in the boys’s secret language, and Scott shrugged, rubbing his arm. They both turned to Deaton again, and Stiles launched on another one of his rants. “Uh, no kidding,” he began, and immediately Sirius gave an exasperated whine. “When I got home this afternoon he was watching baseball. Baseball! He was cheering for the Dodgers, I swear! And he keeps changing the radio station and-”

Deaton held up his finger to his lips. “Stiles, I understand his behaviour must be a shock to you, but it will all make sense in a minute.” He looked to Derek, making a motion for him to turn around with his finger. “As for you, I think I know exactly who you are. You wouldn’t be traveling with your sister, would you?”

As Derek turned around to let Deaton examine the triskele on his back, he shook his head, ears flicking downward. Stiles and Scott, a bit surprised, both looked at each other and exchanged silent skepticism– though Stiles could read on Scott’s face that he wasn’t surprised in the same way Stiles was. He furrowed his brows at his best friend and Scott looked away guiltily, and Stiles began to wonder exactly what it was Scott had neglected to tell him.

“What do you know about the Hale family?” Deaton asked, gently rubbing Derek’s back.

“I know they died in a house fire about six years ago and what does that have to do with my dog or the mark on his back?” Stiles asked, leaning forward onto the steel table scrutinizingly. Derek shifted forward a bit, looking somber and shaking his head again.

“Not all of them,” Deaton said, giving the wolf a sad smile and ruffling his ears. “As for the mark, it’s a-”

“Triskele, yeah, I know that,” Stiles cut him off, bouncing a leg as he waited for the real answers. “It’s a celtic symbol, it symbolises something that comes in threes. But I don’t get why it would be on Sirius or any other dog or what it even means!”

Deaton shifted again, looking toward Scott. “Mister McCall, go get me the files from the top drawer of my desk- in the red folder, please.” As Scott left, he continued, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Being who you are, I have to ask, Stiles. Do you know why there was a house fire at the Hale house?”

“They said it was arson,” Stiles replied, “But no one was ever brought in for it. My dad tried to open the case again, but they never found out who it was. They tried to connect it to uh… Katherine?”

“Kate,” Scott mumbled as he re-entered, leaning against the wall, nearly flinching when Stiles snapped his gaze toward him. “Kate Argent- you know, Allison’s aunt? My girlfriend’s?”

Stiles couldn’t keep from sucking his teeth, watching Scott struggle to refuse eye contact and begin to bite his lip. Deaton watched almost amusedly, taking the files from Scott and licking his finger before looking at them, letting out a quiet snort when Stiles leaned over the table to get a better look at Scott.

“You know something,” he said, “Oh my God! You know something and you’re keeping it from me- Scott!”

“I told you to come today so I can tell you! I promise I’m gonna- I didn’t know it had to do with Sirius!”

“What the hell could you be doing that has to do with my dog?!”

Deaton rested a hand on Stiles’s shoulder, then, putting the files down on the table. “It will become clear,” he told the now antsy Stiles, nodding toward the files. 

“What more do you know about the fire?”

“They couldn’t connect anyone to the case,” Stiles responded, “—and trust me, that was one of the first case files I snagged from dad. I looked through. If she did it- whoever did it- she covere her tracks well. Or well enough that no one could take the stand, anyway.”

Derek stared at Stiles for a few moments, a bit surprised– he shouldn’t have been, he supposed, after seeing how in depth Stiles would study things that weren’t relevant to his homework. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t known Stiles’s father was the one on his case, either; he remembered the Stilinski name clearly, but had never met the sheriff’s son.

“And about the Argents?” Deaton asked, still flipping idly through the files.”

“About as much as I know how they relate to Sirius,” Stiles grumbled, tapping his foot impatiently. “What am I supposed to know here?”

“They’re an old family,” Scott offered, shrugging his shoulders, “but they’ve never lived anywhere long. Allison said they’re always moving.”

“Always moving French descent family, like pretty much every other military or business family in the U.S.,” Stiles replied, bouncing his leg and reaching forward to scratch behind Sirius’s ears. 

“I didn’t know they were French,” Scott mumbled, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“What did you think Argent was? It’s French for silver. Did you pay any attention in Mademoiselle Chardin’s classes back- don’t even answer that.” Scratching his neck with a dramatic sigh, Stiles looked back toward Deaton. “Doesn’t explain what this has to do with Sirius.”

“Now you’re just making things seem less important than they really are,” Deaton chuckled, crossing his arms. “There are those who would say silver is one of the most dangerous of metals.”

“Yeah, if you happen to be tied up in a real-world production of Alvin and the Chipmunks Meet the Wolfman,” came Stiles’s retort, “and I’m pretty sure you didn’t invite me here to slowly reveal that Kate Argent was hunting my werewolf dog.”

He would have kept his cool, he swore, but Scott and Deaton didn’t even say anything and that was what made Stiles begin to squirm.

Stiles looked up at Deaton slowly, and then over to Sirius, who lifted his head a bit proudly and seemed to grin, baring his teeth. “Whoa, okay, smartass,” Stiles grumbled, standing up straight and pointing scoldingly at the wolf. “I’m not a psychic, okay— and you’re a werewolf. You’re a werewolf?!” He grasped at his buzz-cut hair where it was longest, near his neck, and stared at Sirius almost stupefied, jaw slack and eyes wide.

Derek sat on the table confidently, almost showing off. He nodded, much to Stiles’s dismay, and lifted his shoulders ever so slightly into the best shrug he could manage.

“All those times I was in the shower- you could he-“

“Stiles!”

At Scott’s scolding, the flustered Stiles shut up, jaw still hanging open ever so slightly.

Until he realized Scott shut him up, anyway.

“You! You knew! You knew about all this supernatural werewolf shit!” He pointed accusingly at Scott, ignoring Deaton’s patient little eyeroll. 

Scott’s shoulders tensed immediately and he frowned, already a bit frustrated. “Hey, I was going to tell you!”

“Why didn’t you tell me from the start?!”

“It’s not that easy, okay? I was going to tell you today! I didn’t know you got a werewolf from the ASPCA!”

“Well maybe I wouldn’t have gotten one if I had known there actually were a bunch of freaky werewolf things in Beacon Hills!”

If Deaton had said anything, Scott and Stiles hadn’t heard. What they did hear, however, was a commanding bark from Sirius, calling the boys to attention. Stiles stared for a moment, jaw slack as usual, and Scott swallowed as though ashamed.

“Well,” Scott mumbled, hand reaching behind his neck to scratch nervously at the nape, “I mean, who is he? Isn’t he supposed to be- I dunno, morphed back or something?”

“I’m not sure,” Deaton replied, picking through the wolf’s fur to see the triskele on his back. “Definitely a Hale, not a rogue-”

“Derek Hale,” Stiles grumbled, shoving his hands into his pocket. “Derek and Laura Hale were the only two to survive the fire and if you haven’t noticed the wolf on your table is more of a Prince Henry than a Queen Elizabeth.”

Derek perked up immediately, ears standing alert and tail wagging, though his mouth stayed shut and his gaze remained serious. Deaton couldn’t help but crack a smile, reaching over to the files to take one last look-through. “It would appear you are correct, judging by Mr. Hale’s reaction,” he remarked.

“That doesn’t explain why he’s still a wolf,” Stiles and Scott answered in unison, promptly affording each other uncomfortable glances before turning those glances to Derek, whose ears fell and posture turned dismal. 

“I mean, it’s not like he’s cursed or something, right? I mean besides the whole howling on the full moon thing. Full moon’s been gone,” Stiles said, shoving one hand in his pocket and the other through his hair. “So what, am I just being creeped on by the Beast? Because I am so not cool with that.”

“What if he can’t shift back?” Scott offered, crossing his arms and leaning back to look at Derek. “I mean, I dunno, what if he’s stuck?”

Deaton gave a little nod, watching the way Derek’s ears perked in Scott’s direction. “It seems that wouldn’t be too far-fetched,” he said, “I’m sure it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to curse a werewolf, if you knew how.”

“Curse the cursed?” Stiles asked, frowning. “Is that even a-” 

Cut off by a sharp growl from Derek, Stiles jumped and took a step back. “It’s not a curse for everyone,” Deaton told him, “Some, like the Hales, were born wolves. They were a family of humans and wolves. Like most wolves, a–”

“A pack,” Stiles finished. “And he doesn’t have one anymore. So why did he choose me? I mean, it means he wants someone to help him, right?”

Deaton shrugged, giving Derek another sympathetic rub of the head. “Perhaps he could see the strength of your will, Stiles,” he said with a knowing smile, “Or the strength of your researching skills.”

——————

Stiles returned to the house without much of a word more to Scott, grumbling under his breath before sitting down on the couch with his computer, an adderoll, and a few cokes. 

He’d been quiet on the ride home, let Derek pick the station on the radio, refused to answer Scott’s texts, and hadn’t even bat an eye as Derek began to straighten up around the apartment again.

As the hours passed, Derek found himself sitting next to Stiles and setting his chin on the student’s arm, tilting his head questioningly.

“What, you wanna know what I’m doing?” Stiles asked, gesturing toward the computer. Derek gave a nod, and Stiles shrugged. “Background research- looking up articles on the Hale fire and looking for some Argent records. If we want to know what’s going to happen, we have to find out what happened first.”

For a moment, Stiles was quiet again, absently scratching Derek’s ears as he read. “You were sixteen,” he mumbled, frowning. “That was six years ago. You’ve been a wolf for six years.”

Derek nodded slowly, gaze stony and cold. Stiles pressed his lips together, gaze snapping from the computer to the wolf. “I…. You and Laura were alone that long, then. Where is she?” 

Derek’s ears and tail drooped and he stood, walking from the living room to sit at the edge of Stiles’s bed, and for once Stiles realized that a sarcastic comment was more than unnecessary.

He fell asleep with his research, waking up the next morning bleary-eyed and wondering when he’d gotten covered up with the couch’s throw blanket.


End file.
